


In Which James Wesley Was an English Major

by RoyalHeather



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalHeather/pseuds/RoyalHeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick exploration of Wesley's possible motivations and backstory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which James Wesley Was an English Major

James Wesley was an English major.

James Wesley grew up in a nice home, with a mother and a father and a little sister who loved him. He went to school like he was supposed to. He read his books, he did his chores. He got straight A’s in school. He was accepted to a good college, got a scholarship. He did everything he was supposed to. Everyone was so proud. "James, so smart, so capable, he’s surely going places." "Our boy James, we’re so proud of him." "The world better watch out for James."

But it turned out the world didn’t want him. He was only an English major, after all, and the world wanted scientists and politicians. And then the economy came crashing down, and it turned out no one wanted him at all. He had too much experience, too little, knew the wrong things. Useless things. He could _do_ things, he knew he could, but no one else seemed to recognize that. And when he returned home in shame and humiliation, to the same parents who had expected so much of him, he saw no anger or frustration, just sad sympathy, and that only made things worse.

He grew lean. He grew hungry. He learned to carve out the world around him with his nails and teeth, to pry doors open despite the splinters that stabbed his flesh. He demanded favors from people he knew would never give them, refused to take no for an answer.

He became an assistant to an assistant to an assistant. He kept trying. When someone got sick he did their job for them. It got him noticed.

Fisk had already begun bullying his way towards power, and he knew a fellow predator when he saw one. He recognized that Wesley had what he did not, what he needed. A clear mind, an intelligent mind, a drive unclouded by powerful emotion.

An offer was made.

Wesley was tired of fighting for the scraps that fell from on high. He wanted to sit at the table himself and enjoy the feast. And Fisk saw him. Fisk saw what he could be.

An offer was accepted.

He was desperate to prove that he was strong, that he could do things, that he deserved power. With power came responsibility. With responsibility came loyalty. And with loyalty came devotion. He admired Fisk, a man who loved so passionately he let it consume his entire life. Wesley never fully wanted that; the thought of giving himself over so completely to someone or something that there was nothing left of himself seemed foolish, worrying. (Not that he never experienced affection or love or lust or any of those myriad related emotions. But there was always a part of himself he kept locked away, secret, for him alone). He warmed himself at Fisk's blaze while he kept his own hearth neat and tidy. 

And when he saw Fisk in the hospital, undone by the harming of the woman he loved, Wesley felt both pity and determination. He did not want Fisk to be any less affected, no. Fisk needed to be the man that he was. But that also meant he needed Wesley to be the man that _he_ was. A crisis arose, and Wesley would take care of it. Wesley would be practical, professional, uncaring, so that men like Fisk could be free to love the way they did.

He put the loaded gun on the table as insurance for himself. He’d never thought Karen Page would have the guts to actually pull the trigger.


End file.
